Fire Salts and Goodbyes
by timeywimeyspaceywacey
Summary: Branwen receives a heartbreaking letter of inheritance. Dovahkiin/Balimund


Branwen sat cross-legged on the ground in the Riften cemetery, slowly pulling apart the small bunch of nightshade that she had plucked from the plant nearby. A sudden gust of wind rustled the grass nearby, leaving her in a swirl of dust, grass, and the scents of the canal.

"_I will not cry. I am the bloody Dragonborn, and I'll be damned to Oblivion if anyone sees me shed a tear. I will not cry."_

This was what Bran kept mentally repeating, but now that she was here, actually in front of his grave, actually holding her emotions at bay was proving to be quite difficult. She could feel Lydia's concerned gaze burning into her backside, and she struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. It certainly didn't help that her thoughts kept finding their way to the earth underneath her legs, with her mind constantly reminding her that he was there only a few feet underneath her.

Dead. His body was wasting away down there with all of the worms, dirt, and all other manner of foul things that belonged to Namira and-

"Are you alright, my Thane?" softly called out Lydia's concerned voice, abruptly jerking Bran out of the dark place her imagination had taken her.

Bran ignored her. Not because she didn't respond, but because she feared that if she did, she might choke on the horrible lump in her throat. Speaking wasn't an option at the moment. Instead, she turned her thoughts back to the man in the ground underneath her, hoping that her mind would choose to recall more pleasant memories.

* * *

Riften. Bran didn't care for it; at least that's what she decided shortly after making the way the city gates. She and Lydia had been accosted by a guard at the entrance to the city, who claimed that there was a tax to enter. She had managed to intimidate him into letting them in free of charge, but things had not improved from there.

After finding their way to the local inn, the Bee and Barb, she had been confronted by a man named Brynjolf who called her 'lass', who boldly approached her claiming that she didn't do an honest day's work for her gold, and that if she was interested, he had something to help her make a little coin.

What did he know about her and how she made her money? Slaughtering bandits and taking their spoils was honest work. Well, at least that's what Bran told herself.

Oh, and that Haelga. Bran took a sip of her mead and furrowed her brow as she thought of the brusque blonde that had 'greeted' them upon their arrival in Riften.

"I don't like this place Lydia. Not one damn bit."

"Really, my Thane? We've only been here for a few hours. Perhaps sleeping on the cold ground and a lack of mead over the past few weeks has left you a tad bit cross and irritable."

Bran smiled. Her housecarl knew how to always respectfully call her out and put her in her place. She may be the Dovahkiin, but it was nice to have someone that could keep her grounded.

"Even so. I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible. Tomorrow we'll find the blacksmith, sell everything we don't want to weigh us down on our journey, and make our way back to Whiterun."

Lydia nodded. "A wise plan, my thane. I can't imagine why we would need 17 steel daggers, so it's for the best to rid ourselves of the things."

* * *

Bran awoke early the next morning. Perhaps it was because weeks of sleeping on a bedroll had left beds feeling strange and foreign, or maybe it was the urge she felt to finish business in Riften. After a small, quick breakfast, Bran made her way down to the center of the city, her eyes scanning her surroundings for the blacksmith.

Then she saw him.

A rather large, burly blonde Nord man, donning a blacksmith's apron, was pounding iron into shape with his bare fists. He paused briefly, only to wipe the sweat from his brow, before returning to his craft.

Bran paused. All of a sudden, she felt like a fool, with her wild, unbrushed auburn hair, bag full of daggers, and her worn, simple tunic that had more than a few bread crumbs on it.

Oh no. The blacksmith had stopped his work and was looking straight at her.

"What can I do for you today? Come to see Balimund perform miracles with steel, eh?" he called out in a deep, gruff voice.

It might have been the strange churning in her stomach, but all of a sudden, Bran found herself incredibly nervous.

"_Calm down, Bran. Just speak to that handsome, friendly man like the bold and impressive woman that you are."_

"Uhh, well…uhh…daggers. I, uhh, have them."

So much for eloquence.

* * *

It had been a year since Bran first met Balimund, and during the passing time she had collected fire salts for him, received his training in smithing, and spent a great deal of time around the forge, getting to know him a great deal better. He was kind, hard-working, honest, and passionate about smithing.

She had also taken to wearing an Amulet of Mara, and when Balimund had blatantly expressed his interest in her, she had been incredibly surprised and pleased.

Yet, whenever he made this fact known, she found herself delicately ignoring his advances. She loved him, yes. That was absolute. He was a good, kind, hard-working man, but it was precisely his goodness and kindness that kept her from confessing her mutual love. She did dirty work for jarls, carried out contracts for the Dark Brotherhood, and had eventually gotten in with the Thieves Guild.

Bran felt that she had no business dragging a man as good as Balimund down to her dark level of thievery, deceit, and assassinations.

* * *

The courier had been met on the road back to Whiterun.

Bran and Lydia had finished the very menial task of clearing out the bandits in Redoran's Retreat for Farkas, and Bran couldn't be in a better mood. The job had gone smoothly, they had hauled away a good deal of decent loot from the site, and Bran felt as though she was soaring. Getting rid of bandits _always_ made her feel better.

Then he had stopped them. Bran saw him coming towards them at a light jog, unable to make out who this figure might be. She grasped the hilt of Dawnbreaker, ready to pull it out if need be. Couldn't be too careful these days. Skyrim had become a dangerous place.

No need to worry, though. Only a courier.

The courier had left Bran with a letter and a rather large coin purse full of gold. She knew what this meant. A letter and gold always meant death.

She had received a few before, and after opening the first letter to find out what this combination of items meant, it had come to take her awhile to muster up the strength to open up the letters and read them.

This one had taken longer. Bran found herself dreading the moment she broke open the seal upon the letter, so for an entire week, she left the gold and letter sealed and untouched on the small table within her room in Breezehome.

Then the moment had come when she couldn't resist any longer. She had decided it was time in the very early hours of the morning. Bran lit a small candle, pulled on a robe, and sat down at the table, her trembling hands running over the rough paper. Inhaling deeply, she pulled the letter open.

It was from Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften, regretting to inform her that Balimund was dead.

* * *

Vampires, she had been told when she asked a guard. A Master Vampire and his death hounds had attacked Riften one evening, when the streets were fairly empty. Most were safe away in their homes, but not Balimund. He always did have a tendency to work late.

After receiving the letter, Bran slowly made her way to Riften. She wasn't planning on lingering in the city, just to pass through.

She had taken great care to avoid the area with the forge. Maybe one day she'd come to see the work of Asbjorn, Balimund's protégé, but that day was not today. At this moment, she was barely in control of her emotions, and didn't know what would happen if she saw the Scorched Hammer.

Now here she was, a month after his death, gazing on the grave of the man she loved.

Bran exhaled deeply, and lifted a handed to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, and was surprised to find her cheeks wet.

"_So much for not crying. Oh well. I loved him, after all. Tears shouldn't be so unexpected."_

Now, to do what she came here for. Bran opened the knapsack on her lap, and pulled out a large satchel. Filled to the brim with fire salts. She always had brought him some when she visited, that was something that would never change. They were valuable and rare, but that didn't matter. The mere thought of them reminded her of him and his forge. Yet another reason to leave them behind.

She reached back into the knapsack for the final item to leave on his grave.

Her Amulet of Mara.

Lydia had tried to discourage this, urging her to keep it, just in case. She told her that she was young and that the possibility of new love was strong, to hold onto the amulet until she was ready to wear it again.

Bran had resisted this, feeling insulted and infuriated by the thought of another man, and Lydia had dropped the subject rather quickly. After running her fingers over the amulet, she placed it on top of the satchel of fire salts. There, done.

"Need anything, my Thane? Bran?" Lydia said softly, cautiously.

Up until this point, Bran's time, energy, and concern had gone into dealing with the threat of Alduin and the return of the dragons. Add to that work of the Companions, various bounties to collect, and contracts from Nazir and Delvin, and Bran was a very, very busy woman.

Suddenly, none of that seemed important any longer. Perhaps it was petty and selfish of her when the fate of Skyrim was resting in her hands, but at this moment in time, she didn't care. The most pressing thing in her mind was making those responsible for the death of the man she loved pay for what they had done to him, and others.

Bran stood abruptly, turning to face her housecarl with a hard, steely glint in her eye.

"Actually, yes. Lydia, do you know how to get to Fort Dawnguard?"

* * *

**Well, there you have it! Just a tiny little one-shot. If anyone's interested, I might write another tale with Branwen in it, following her time in the Dawnguard. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing!**


End file.
